


marry me

by nightbirdrises



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>very much based on <a href="http://princehummel.tumblr.com/post/69461023097">[x]</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	marry me

**Author's Note:**

> also found at [[x]](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/post/70173312233) (there's a bit of underage drinking, otherwise I don't think there's anything to warn for)

Living with Kurt (and the girls) isn’t always a picnic. Which is perfectly fine — he’d done everything he could to be logical, aware that even if it were just Blaine and Kurt in an apartment together, it would still be their first time sharing a space like this and it would still have all the rough spots that come with such a situation. There are arguments and frustrations that crop up between all of them but more often than not, since moving in, Blaine’s noticed that the majority of them are between himself and Kurt.

Sometimes that thought worries him (he knows it worries Kurt, and they’ve talked about it but all they can agree on is that they just need to push through this “adjustment phase”) and sometimes he starts to wonder about, well,  _them_. If they can really do this.

They’re getting married. The date hasn’t been set, but they both have rings now (Kurt surprising Blaine after graduation with a quiet, intimate proposal in stark contrast to Blaine’s own grand scheme; he’d loved every second of it) and they’re in the beginnings of wedding planning, mostly tossing ideas around and flipping through magazines.

It’s all amazing; Blaine loves the process despite the undercurrent of stress that’s sure to peak as the time looms nearer simply because… Kurt. He’s going to be able to say Kurt, my husband, and smile every time he says it.

Still. (He hates that there’s a “still” at all, or a “but,” or a “however.”)

He wonders.

 

* * *

 

It’s November.

Blaine’s on the couch, absently flipping through channels and trying hard not to fret. It gets even harder when he ends up on a news report about someone who’d been mugged recently, just this morning, in fact. Granted, this kind of thing happens all too often in a city like New York, and this particular incident occurred many miles away. But Blaine frets anyway, the screen of his phone still dark where it sits on the table in front of him.

Rachel is out with friends she’d met through and because of Funny Girl, and Santana’s working tonight — she left not twenty minutes ago. Kurt, on the other hand, should have been home from his dance class an hour ago.

Blaine checks the time again.

An hour and a half ago.

The screeching of the door makes him jump and Blaine turns, relief washing through him when he sees Kurt stepping inside, obviously harried but otherwise unharmed. He stands to greet him but he doesn’t get more than a single syllable out before Kurt rushes into his arms.

"I’m so sorry I didn’t call, I know you hate when I don’t, it’s just, ugh!" Kurt buries his face into Blaine’s neck for a moment, his skin slightly chilled from the wind outside. "Every time I think Cassandra’s turned over a new leaf, she manages to prove me completely wrong. And her new TA is such an asshole, I swear he’s out to get me pulled from the class for any reason he can make up."

"You mean Terrence?"

Kurt nods, sniffing. “I keep forgetting that we now share the experience that is dance with Cassandra July.”

"Sort of. We don’t have the class physically together."

"I almost feel like that would be worse. Imagine the things she’d say."

"Oh, but we’d render her speechless with a passion-fueled tango routine."

Chuckling, Kurt leans back, his arms still draped over Blaine’s shoulders. “You’re not mad I’m home late?”

"No, of course not," Blaine says easily, kissing Kurt’s nose just to see the way his face scrunches up in that adorable way it does. "I’m just glad you’re home at all."

"I still should have called once I was released from hell’s gates, at least."

"But you’re here now, I’m starving, I would bet anything that you’re starving, and we can definitely move on to focus on food."

"Alright. What are we…" Kurt trails off, eyes wide. Blaine doesn’t have any warning but that before Kurt’s hurrying off to the kitchen, opening cupboards and the fridge. "Damn it!"

"Kurt, what—"

"I was supposed to buy groceries today," Kurt groans, rubbing his face wearily as he turns back to Blaine.

"We can order takeout?"

"We’ve reached our takeout quota for the week."

Blaine nods, wandering to the fridge. Kurt sighs, standing just a bit beyond the table and sounding utterly exhausted. In the fridge, Blaine finds little, but there’s milk, and he knows they still have plenty of cereal. He pulls the gallon container out and glances at Kurt, who’s in the same spot but now staring at the TV mindlessly, his arms crossed. This happens sometimes — Kurt reaches a point where he can’t find it in him to even move a step. Normally, though, he at least makes it to the couch. At the moment he seems frozen in place, the only movement his even, quiet breathing.

Grinning at the Rooster O’s in the cupboard, Blaine grabs the half-full Cinnamon Toast Crunch instead. Kurt will appreciate something with a dash of spice, he thinks.

It’s only a few minutes before Blaine’s nudging Kurt’s shoulder, offering a bowl of cereal to him. Kurt turns, looks at him, and smiles as he takes it.

"Thank you," he says quietly. He gestures to the table. "Should we…"

"No," Blaine says, sitting down right where he’d been standing. He pats the floor next to him. "Right here."

Kurt arches an eyebrow but he sits, crossing his legs. “This is new.”

"Good. We should always try new things."

"What’s next? Grilling on the fire escape? No," Kurt warns immediately when Blaine lights up at the prospect.

"Fine," Blaine huffs, pouting only a little. They eat in relative silence for a while, the news reports droning on in the background, until Blaine finishes first and sets the bowl aside with a gentle clatter. He leans back, supporting himself on his arms which stretch out to each side of him, palms flat on the floor. It’s clean enough, he knows — Kurt wouldn’t have even considered sitting down if he didn’t think it was sufficiently dirt-free.

Kurt’s bowl touches the floor with a dull thunk but Blaine doesn’t look over, doesn’t need to because Kurt’s hand has found his, their fingers near-automatically intertwining even though the angle is slightly awkward and Blaine’s fingers are half-crushed against the floor. It’s still perfect, as always, and even more so because he can feel the smooth surface of Kurt’s ring.

He looks over to find that Kurt’s already watching him, lips stretched in that small, grateful smile.

"Marry me?" Kurt asks, quiet. Blaine grins.

"In every lifetime I can."

 

* * *

 

It’s December.

Blaine stretches in the back seat of the cab, ready to be home after a long day spent hanging out with Sam. Usually Sam just comes to the loft before and after, but Kurt had insisted that they both stay out of the building for the day. He wouldn’t say why, but when Blaine spots a toddler out the window walking with her mom and wearing a light-up Christmas tree shirt, he thinks he has a pretty good idea as to what Kurt has been doing.

He’s more excited than he cares to admit. It’s going to be their first Christmas really being together — Burt and Carole had declined the offer to come to New York, claiming that Burt had a pileup of cars to work on over the holidays. Blaine believes they just wanted to give them a holiday as an engaged couple, which is amazing but at the same time he wishes he could see his father-in-law…-to-be.

Anyway, they won’t be completely alone; Santana’s staying in the city as well. Rachel had opted to go home and spend some time with her dads again this year. Blaine’s noticed her demeanor, how it’s a little dull lately and lacking that Rachel Berry gold star shine. Well, the holiday season does tend to bring back memories, he guesses sadly.

The cab stops and Blaine pays the driver with a bright smile — getting a blank stare in return — and he heads inside as quickly as he can without running. It’s weirdly cold, even for December, so the more he can avoid being outside, the better.

"Blaine!" comes the greeting as soon as he slides the door open. Kurt’s jogging towards him and the next second he’s enveloped in a massive hug. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Blaine answers, feeling warm and fuzzy as well as confused. "Did something happen, or…"

"No, nothing," Kurt says cheerfully, pulling out of the hug to spin away playfully. "It’s just a good day."

Blaine smiles. “I like good days.”

"They’re the best." Kurt hums a holiday tune that Blaine can’t quite remember the name of. "We should do something fun."

"What kind of fun?"

"Let’s-be-teenagers-in-high-school kind of fun. Are there any movies out that you’ve been wanting to see?"

Blaine blinks, but searches his memory for interesting trailers. “I don’t know.”

"We’ll pick one at random, then," Kurt says, already making a beeline for his jacket. "If it’s good, we’ll get a movie night out of it."

"And if it’s bad?"

Kurt just shrugs, but Blaine swears he sees a familiarly mischievous glint in his eyes as he quickly ushers him back out the door. Blaine’s not about to question that look, not when the last time he saw it, they ended up successfully pranking Santana with an elaborate setup involving her bed, messy sheets, and unused but opened condoms.

They had come very close to being murdered Lima Heights style, but it was worth it, especially after she had flushed the toilet (thereby interrupting the hot water flow) while they were making out in the shower.

When they reach the movie theater, they don’t stop to so much as glance at the selection. Kurt asks for a random pair of tickets and he gets an irritated glare before he gives one right back, fingers tapping the counter.

"I have a feeling she gave us tickets for the worst movie on purpose," Blaine says after they’ve walked off towards their destination.

"You don’t know that yet."

"Did you see her face? If she could have given us train tickets to the North Pole just to get us out, I think she would have."

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say. I’m sure we’ll enjoy ourselves no matter what.” His voice turns to a whisper as they enter the theater.

"What about popcorn? Kurt," Blaine hisses, following him up, and up, and up, until they’ve reached the back row. "I’m hungry."

Kurt, who has already sat down, glances up at him, all innocent eyes. “Get a large to share?”

Blaine points at him in mock menace (if Cooper were here, he’d be so proud) and Kurt sticks his tongue out. “Okay, but next time we see a movie I’m dragging you up here and then sending you on a solo quest for Reese’s Cups.”

"Fair enough."

As it turns out, it doesn’t actually take that long to get popcorn. Blaine’s heading back up the stairs in mere minutes, eyes on the steps to avoid tripping and creating a mess. When he finally looks up he’s at the top again, and Kurt…

Blaine squints. Kurt’s rubbing a hand slowly down his own thigh, staring ahead with a knowing smirk on his face that completely gives him away.

"You never planned on actually watching a movie, did you?" Blaine asks, sitting down next to him and suddenly feeling a lot more excited.

"Nope, not at all."

"You wanted to make out in the back of a movie theater."

"Sounds about right."

"There are other people in here."

"Good observation."

Blaine huffs, somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. “Won’t someone notice?”

Kurt hums. “Not if we’re quiet.”

Blaine does laugh then, shaking his head even as he squirms to get more comfortable in his seat — a goal that’s a little harder to reach now than it was a minute ago. “We didn’t do this in high school.”

"Which is why we’re doing it now." Kurt’s hand stops and he looks over at Blaine, slightly worried. "If you’re not okay with it, that’s fine. I just felt like doing something a little rebellious today, you don’t have to—"

"No, no, no," Blaine says hurriedly, careful to keep quiet. "I want to. Honestly, I think the idea is kind of exciting."

Kurt grins. “Okay. You know, this is as close as we’ve come to a scheduled make-out session since I graduated.”

"You scheduled it, not me," Blaine points out. "I’m just coming along for the ride."

"Well, thank goodness you are. I’d feel ridiculous making out with myself back here."

Blaine snorts, the sound causing a middle-aged woman a few rows down and to the right to look up at them in distaste. He quickly schools his expression into something more neutral and she turns away. Kurt, on the other hand, is giggling into his fist.

"Not funny," Blaine whispers. "What if she’s the one that catches us later? I don’t think she’d be very reasonable."

"Then we get kicked out. This gets ticked off the bucket list either way," Kurt says. "Number fifty-nine."

Blaine’s eyes widen. “You didn’t say this was actually on your bucket list!”

"I didn’t really think about it until now, but it’s definitely on there." To prove it, Kurt pulls out his phone and opens up his bucket list, scrolling to fifty-nine. Sure enough:

  
_Make out in the back of a movie theater (DURING a movie)_

  
"Was that last part necessary?"

Kurt shoves at his shoulder, putting his phone back in his pocket. “I didn’t want to end up cheating by sneaking into an empty theater just to make out. Not that I thought I would ever have the opportunity at the time I wrote this list.”

"But you do now."

"I do."

They listen to the gentle hum of conversation in the room — which isn’t full, but isn’t quite empty either — until the lights dim and the previews start. Blaine attempts to lean over, putting a hand on Kurt’s leg, but he’s stopped.

"After the movie starts," Kurt says as quietly as he can. "So people are distracted."

Blaine nods, but his impatience is obvious as the trailers tick by one after one. He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to pay attention to them so he stares almost vacantly at the screen, waiting for the movie to start. It finally does after what seems like forever, and it’s only a few minutes later that Kurt’s hand finds his shoulder, leaning in and urging Blaine towards him at the same time. They meet in the middle, rougher than Blaine thinks either of them intended, but somehow all sounds are muffled in each other’s lips.

Turning fully, Blaine tilts his head and lets his tongue run along Kurt’s lips as Kurt’s hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck, tugging him impossibly closer. They’re careful not to push too far, to give each other any reason to accidentally let out a noise, but it’s perfect anyway, the give-and-take, the taste of coffee feather-light on Kurt’s tongue, the slow-crawling, tingling heat along Blaine’s spine.

The feeling — getting immersed in Kurt, losing himself while at the same time being aware of the sparks flickering through his nerves all over — it’s something that Blaine’s positive he’ll never get used to, and he never wants to. It’s like falling in love, kiss by kiss, deeper and deeper.

Neither of them have any concept of time except the soreness of their own lips, so it’s only when Blaine’s sure his lips will actually go numb that he pulls away, swallowing in a useless attempt to hide his reaction to the way Kurt’s mouth is swollen and cherry-red even in the dark of the theater. His blush is noticeable too, high on his cheeks, and both of them are breathing heavily.

Blaine leans in to mouth at Kurt’s jaw a little — rather sloppily; his lips are clumsy after so much kissing — and hums, quiet enough that only Kurt can hear it.

"Marry me," he says, dropping his mouth a little lower; his lashes brush Kurt’s cheek. He feels Kurt’s mouth curve into a smile.

"That can be arranged," he says cheekily, nudging Blaine up to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

It’s January.

For some reason, Rachel has gotten it into her head that she wants to repaint the loft. Insisting that the job will go faster now that there are four of them instead of just herself and Kurt, she finally convinced them that it would be a suitable way to spend a free weekend.

As a result, the furniture has been moved away from the walls and covered up, and the floor is covered wherever possible, as well. Rachel and Santana are working on the wall nearest the kitchen while Kurt and Blaine are on the opposite side of the space.

"Do you like painting?" Kurt asks. Blaine’s surprised by the question, but he nods.

"I always had a thing for finger painting as a kid," he says. "My mom wasn’t a fan, though, since I would almost always get paint on something that wasn’t the paper."

"How about this? I know it must get kind of boring, painting a single color onto a wall. There isn’t much creativity in it."

Blaine shrugs. “It’s fine, actually. I don’t mind it at all. What about you?”

Kurt’s brush strokes across the wall, even and smooth. “I love it. It’s one of those almost mindless things that you can just lose yourself in, you know? You can think about anything if all you’re doing is dragging a brush over a large surface. It’s calming too.”

"Yeah, I get that." He’d guessed at it before moving in, but after living with Kurt, one thing is clear: constants relax him. He loves creativity and spontaneous bursts of action driven by emotion, but it’s the constants that hold him steady as he breaks barriers. The monotonous task of painting is constant in its strokes, in dipping the brush or roller into paint only to go right back to the wall the next moment. The way Kurt’s nighttime skin care routine never varies except, occasionally, in length.

Those things, they’re home to him.

"Do you think we’ll paint the walls when we have our own place?" Kurt muses, and Blaine’s heart jumps pleasantly. "If it’s allowed in the building, that is."

"Probably. I don’t think either of us will be a hundred percent happy with however the walls look upon our arrival."

"You’re right. People should appreciate interior design more." Kurt stops painting to survey his work so far, his patch of wall a rich, tasteful maroon. "The aesthetic of a room can do so much."

Blaine’s stopped now, too, watching Kurt. He thinks for a moment; a smile grows on his face. “If you had a single room that you could paint any color you wanted, what color would you paint it?”

Kurt turns to him then, pensive. “Before or after furniture is placed in it?”

"Before. A clean slate."

"It depends on what I’d want to use the room for. In general, probably something dark and rich. A deep royal blue, for instance, or even a dark brick-red sort of color. Ooh, or majestic violet."

"Majestic, huh?"

"Well, yes. That’s the name of a color I remember seeing when I was pulling options for my future dream home back in elementary school."

"I see. I like that, though, you can’t go wrong with a shade of purple."

Kurt snorts. “Oh, you can go  _so_  wrong with purple if you’re not careful.”

Crossing his arms (carefully, so as not to get paint on himself from the brush), Blaine huffs in mock-offense. “My five year-old self is hurt. He liked painting with purple and bright, garish orange.”

"Ouch," Kurt groans, bringing his free hand to his heart. "Your five year-old self committed a serious offense. Unless he used the colors in an innovative way."

"Is it considered innovative if it was finger-painted all over one of Cooper’s favorite shirts?" Kurt laughs before managing to look somewhat thoughtful again.

"We’ll call it abstract art, in that case."

"Awesome."

Both of them return to painting in relative silence — Rachel and Santana have started bickering over how best to paint around… something. Blaine’s not sure exactly what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t really feel like asking and subsequently being pulled into the conversation. He loves the girls, but they get kind of intense.

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, but Blaine’s been on the receiving end of a tirade from each of them already and he’d rather not repeat the experience just yet.

Blaine starts to hum a nameless tune, then wonders if he’s on to something when the tune gets catchy — but his thoughts are interrupted by a sudden cold, wet sensation on his arm that makes him jump back. He looks and Kurt’s standing there, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s smirking.

"Oops," he says, totally free of remorse. Blaine glares at him and makes a quick jab at Kurt’s arm with his brush, but Kurt avoids it easily. "I thought you were a boxer? Isn’t there a lesson on not projecting your next move?"

"I think there’s also an implied lesson on not taunting an opponent," Blaine says, gritting his teeth as he goes for it again. The brush catches Kurt’s hand as he attempts to turn away.

"Damn," Kurt mutters. "I guess now that I have paint on me, there’s no point trying to keep clean anymore."

"What do you—" Blaine’s eyes widen as Kurt slowly places his brush on the floor and dips his hands into the paint. "Oh my god."

"Stay there."

"But—"

"Stay."

It’s a testament to how much he trusts Kurt that he listens, warily watching his fiancé as he steps closer and closer. The shock of paint on his face makes him gasp; Kurt has both hands on his cheeks and he leans in to peck Blaine’s lips before pulling away, hands and all. Kurt grins.

"Maybe I could get into this finger painting thing."

Blaine rolls his eyes as he subtly paints the palm of his hand with his brush. Biting his lip, he slips the hand underneath Kurt’s shirt and drags paint along Kurt’s side, ignoring the hitch of breath and slight flinch. As an afterthought, he tugs Kurt’s shirt up and off entirely after getting a go-ahead nod.

"You too, mister," Kurt says, an eyebrow arched. Blaine nods and takes off his shirt as well, shivering a little. Appraising him, Kurt sighs. "I wish we had more colors."

"Why? What would you do to me?"

"Who knows. Maybe I’d paint you pink here…" Kurt draws a maroon line with his finger across Blaine’s ribcage. He bends down to grab a roller, covering it in paint, and spins Blaine around. "Or maybe I’d just do  _this_  in sky blue,” he says as he rolls paint in a single, broad stroke down Blaine’s back.

Blaine reaches back, smearing some of the paint from his skin onto his hands, and turns around. “Well, I think I would use purples—” He grabs Kurt’s waist with both hands, rubbing color into pale skin. “Maybe some yellows… no,  _gold_.”

Kurt huffs out a laugh, breathless. “What, are you gonna turn me into C-3PO?”

"You have no idea how proud I am of you for making that reference."

Blaine streaks paint along Kurt’s body, up his neck, grinning all the while as Kurt starts to lean into the touch. “You do realize I absolutely refuse to have sex whilst covered in paint, right?”

"I figured," Blaine says, kissing Kurt again, glad that there’s no paint near either of their mouths so he can do that. "Doesn’t mean I can’t touch you. Does it? Because I kind of like touching you."

Kurt shakes his head, taking Blaine’s hands where they’re still pressed against his neck and kneeling down. Blaine stares at him, confused, until Kurt tugs his hands more insistently. “Come down here.”

"Okay…" Blaine trails off, eyes on Kurt as his hands are released. Kurt’s twisting around, and the view of his painted body shifting like that is fantastic but Blaine’s more interested right now in what he could be doing. "Kurt?"

When Kurt turns back, his hands are freshly coated in dripping paint, a wicked smirk on his face. Blaine barely has time to react — Kurt’s on him in seconds, practically tackling him to the paper-strewn floor and rubbing paint wherever he can. It tickles, it’s cold, it’s Kurt’s body on his all at once. He’s preparing to flip them over and turn the tables when he hears Rachel’s voice.

"Oh my  _god_!”

"Told you," Santana says. By now Kurt has frozen in place on top of Blaine, staring at the floor next to Blaine’s head. "Having sex in the middle of painting is just the kind of cheesy thing they’d do."

That finally gets Kurt to sit up, glaring at them both. “Okay, first of all, we weren’t planning on having any kind of sex.” Santana scoffs. “Second, why are you over here?”

"We finished our wall," Santana says simply. Blaine glances over and, sure enough, it’s that rich maroon color all the way across.

Kurt splutters, “Wh— How?”

"It helps to get paint on the wall instead of on your fiancé’s tiny elf prince body. Just a tip." With that, Santana winks at them and heads for the bathroom to wash up. Rachel still looks a bit scandalized, but she smiles and even gives them a halfhearted thumbs-up before scurrying off — uncharacteristically quiet — to wait outside the bathroom for her turn.

"I guess she wore her voice out arguing with Santana," Kurt sighs, turning to Blaine. "I can’t believe they finished before we did."

"Well, we did get kind of distracted."

"Oh no, you’re the distracting one here. I just fell for it." Blaine gapes at him.

"No way. You made the first move, Kurt, all I did was reciprocate."

"I made the first move because you were distracting me, obviously."

Blaine shakes his head, standing. “If you say so. Come on, let’s finish up. Later we can talk more about painting our dream home.” Kurt stands as well, but he pulls Blaine close for a sweet, chaste kiss.

"My dream home is wherever you are," he says softly. "Don’t you forget it. You are my constant."

Blaine smiles bashfully, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion the way he does with Kurt only. “You’re mine, too.” A constant, something to return to when the day’s trials have raked him over, a home.

Kurt hums. “Marry me.”

"With pleasure," Blaine answers, this little exchange becoming another one of their mutual constants. He’s glad it’s become that, glad for the reminder that yes, they’ll be okay. Not that he doesn’t still wonder at times, but this helps.

 

* * *

 

It’s February.

"Come on, we should go," Kurt pleads, vibrating with energy where he stands, leaning over the end of the bed.

"But I won’t know anyone there," Blaine says skeptically. He’s sitting cross-legged on the sheets, fully dressed and wishing he wasn’t so he’d have a real reason not to go. "You won’t either, you said yourself that you aren’t friends with Elliott’s friends."

"Santana, Dani, and Rachel are all going," Kurt points out. "If nothing else, we can stick with them. Please?"

Blaine takes a deep breath. He likes Elliott despite only having met him a few times, and only briefly, but he’s not sure if he’s up for a party at his apartment. With alcohol. And dancing. And lots of people.

The last time he was in the middle of those three things, the night ended badly. Not that he wants to tell Kurt — it’s his fault the whole Scandals thing fell apart, anyway, and it would be understandable if Kurt found it ridiculous that it’s Blaine who’s still harboring bad feelings about that night.

"Okay," Blaine finds himself saying, unable to keep from smiling when Kurt bounces on his feet a little in triumph.

Elliott’s apartment when they get there is actually rather quiet. There are a few people milling about and chatting, and there’s wine that seems like it’s probably expensive. Of course, next to the wine are bottles of just about every kind of alcoholic drink Blaine’s ever (and never) heard of. It makes him wary, given his experiences with drinking. He’s aware that Kurt has long since overcome his first disastrous attempt at it, but he himself has yet to drink more than a couple of glasses of champagne at New Year’s since moving in.

"Hey, nice to see you guys!" Elliott waves at them from the couch, grinning widely. "Glad you could make it."

"Like we’d miss this opportunity to watch you make a fool of yourself," Kurt teases. Blaine smiles secretly at "we." Or so he thinks — Elliott catches his gaze just then and winks.

"That was one time," Elliott says to Kurt. "I swear I’ve never tried to perform intoxicated acrobatics ever since."

"Tell me that again after tonight without lying, alright?" Elliott shakes his head and Kurt leads Blaine to the kitchen, where a small array of snacks has been set up. "How are you feeling so far?"

"Fine, I guess," Blaine says. "It’s not as insane as I’d expected."

"That’s because we’re early. But seriously, if you’re ever too uncomfortable, just say the word and we’ll go home."

It’s as good a moment as ever, so Blaine leans over to kiss Kurt’s cheek. “Thank you. I think I’ll be okay, though. We’re supposed to do this kind of stuff at our age, right?”

"Well, we’re hardly typical," Kurt says with a smile. "So it’s okay if we skip out to do something sappy and romantic."

"True. But I’m willing to try risqué and exciting once in a while."

"Ooh, risqué, huh?"

Blaine’s well-versed in Kurt’s facial expressions by now and this one, teasing and flirty, is definitely one he knows well. He grins. “We’ll see.”

"We’ll see" turns to "Oh god, I’m so overwhelmed" within an hour.

The apartment is crowded with unfamiliar faces and their bodies, which are nearly all dancing to the music that’s blasting loud enough to be heard in every room and probably in the entire building. Blaine’s not sure how or if Elliott gets away with it, honestly. Actually, he hasn’t seen Elliott since they arrived, but he’s not about to go looking for him — Blaine’s seen movies, he knows what he could find. Elliott’s attractive and everything, but he’d rather not see all that.

Thankfully, Kurt has remained at Blaine’s side since the beginning. Every once in a while he’ll get dragged into a conversation but he always takes Blaine’s hand while he speaks, his thumb rubbing Blaine’s knuckles soothingly. Blaine hasn’t had anything to drink except a glass of wine that Kurt had poured for him — to his surprise, that’s all that Kurt’s had, as well.

But then the song changes and Kurt lights up, yells over the noise that he and Elliott duetted to this once in the middle of some long-dead feud. Blaine nods, remembers Kurt talking about that over Skype, but somehow the song itself had never been shared. Hearing it now, he suddenly wishes he’d been here to experience that event, especially since there had been a stripper pole involved.

It’s a very loud song, of course. Kurt’s dancing, turning away from Blaine as his hips swing around; he turns almost directly into the chest of some guy that Blaine’s noticed watching the both of them all night — though mostly Kurt. He seems pleased with the little accident and attempts to place his hands on Kurt’s waist. Blaine half-steps forward but Kurt doesn’t let it happen anyway. He returns to Blaine, an eyebrow cocked as he spins into him, his back flush to Blaine’s chest. His head turns and his lips leave a tingling kiss on Blaine’s jaw.

"You good?" he asks, loud enough for Blaine to hear. Blaine, despite every intention to say yes, shakes his head. And then it’s too late to take it back because Kurt’s frowning, turning around to look at him face-to-face. "What’s wrong?"

Blaine shakes his head again, shrugging to try to get Kurt to forget about it, but Kurt’s never been one to let something drop. So he sighs, says, “Can we go somewhere quiet?”

Kurt nods and takes Blaine’s hand, pulling him from room to room, searching. They finally end up in the bathroom — they can still hear the bass line as clear as day, but at least they don’t have to shout.

It’s only now that Blaine realizes he’s holding a nearly-full bottle of wine. He stares at it dumbly until Kurt’s finger tips his chin up.

"Do you want to leave?"

Blaine bites his lip. “I don’t know. I don’t really know why I even feel weird.”

"What kind of weird?"

"Like…" Blaine glances around the room helplessly. "Like I’m missing a part of you."

Apparently this catches Kurt off-guard, judging by the way his brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

"It’s not your fault, not really mine either, just—" Blaine groans and sits on the edge of the bathtub. "I feel like I missed so much of how you changed while we were in different places."

Kurt sits next to him, rubs his arm. “Is there a reason this is coming up now?”

Blaine scoffs self-deprecatingly. “The song. It’s just not something your high school self would have even tried singing, you know? Not as part of a duet, anyway. But it’s stupid, I know, we skyped so much after getting back together and I’m still complaining—”

"Blaine, it’s not stupid. You’re right, I’ve changed a lot." Kurt tugs Blaine closer to him, rests his chin on Blaine’s shoulder. "We’re both still changing though, don’t you think? And now we’re doing it together."

Kurt smiles, then, and slides into the tub. Blaine stares at him before easing himself in as well, the two of them facing each other with their legs tangled.

"Pass the wine?" Kurt asks, and Blaine hands it over. Kurt accepts the bottle and takes a pull directly from it. He hands it back and Blaine decides  _fuck it_  and drinks. “Better?”

"Much."

They pass the bottle back and forth until it’s empty. By now they’re both rather giddy and cheerful with a dash of flirty, Kurt shameless in his staring and Blaine wanting nothing more than to pull his fiancé on top of him, even if sitting in this tub is wildly uncomfortable and probably not good for either of their backs.

"You know, that guy that you ran into back there," Blaine says, "I didn’t like him."

"Oh?"

"He was into you, I could tell. He’s been watching you all night."

"I almost feel bad for him."

"What? Why?"

Kurt grins. “Well, it must be terrible to be into someone who’s already deeply in love with someone else,” he says. “And getting married on top of that.”

"Ah." Blaine ducks his head, smiles. "I guess that would kind of suck. You’re quite a catch, Kurt Hummel."

"Oh, but I’ve already been caught," Kurt returns with a wink. "Happily so."

"Well, in that case…" Blaine gets to his knees with a little bit of a struggle; he’s straddling Kurt’s legs, now, and despite the pain in his knees he feels like he couldn’t be in a better place. "Marry me?"

Kurt grabs at the front of his shirt and pulls him down, forgetting that the surface under Blaine’s legs is slippery — Blaine falls onto him, both of them grunting at the impact. But Kurt kisses him once they’ve rearranged themselves, murmurs, “I would love nothing more.”

 

* * *

 

It’s a month before they’re to get married.

Just as expected, tension is running high. Blaine’s wondering more than ever, yet perfectly in agreement they’re doing the right thing, yet wondering some more, all at the same time. It’s exhausting.

Their arguments are exhausting, too. Some of the fights they’ve had, though minor, would absolutely not have happened had it been a normal time period without all this planning going on. But there’s a wedding coming up, and it’s  _theirs_ , and they both want everything to be perfect.

Perfect, apparently, comes with a price.

"No, no, no," Kurt groans over the phone. Blaine sighs, aware of what’s coming next. "I’m telling you, I don’t care what Mr. I’ve-Planned-Six-Hundred-Weddings thinks. We do this thing our way or we don’t do it at all."

Blaine winces, then mutters, “You mean  _your_  way?”

He regrets it immediately when Kurt goes deathly silent. They don’t have to be in the same room for Blaine to know when Kurt’s been seriously offended. “I’ll be home in an hour.”

"Kurt, I’m—"

"Please, Blaine."

"Okay." The line clicks dead and Blaine squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out… everything. Nothing. God, it’s all so frustrating. It’s not like he doesn’t want to marry Kurt — that’s ridiculous, of course he does — but the last few weeks have put such a strain on them both that he has considered putting it off. He’s not sure how Kurt would take that solution, nor is he sure if he even wants it.

He just wants things to make sense, for him to stop worrying about them like it’s even a question. Because it’s not, but lately it’s been feeling more and more like it is.

And, great, he’d forgotten to make the bed this morning. Blaine nearly grabs his boxing gear and leaves out of utter frustration, but something pulls him up short. It’s Kurt — despite everything, he wants to be here when Kurt gets home.

He flops onto the unmade sheets and lets himself wallow for a moment. He’s so happy that they’re getting married, but…

(He still hates that there’s a “but.”)

Blaine misses the days when things were easier. When they could talk and not end up discussing how many chairs they’re gonna need for the reception, when they could have movie nights and make out instead of commenting on whether or not a 1920s theme would work for their wedding, when they were romantic just because they loved it, from cheesy to sappy without more than a day’s planning.

It’s that last point that gets him. Romance.

Blaine finds himself scrambling off the bed to hunt for… something. Candles. Candles are romantic. Of course, none of the candles he finds match with each other, and he has no place to put them other than the nightstand and the one table near the window, but they’ll have to do. And the lighter seems to have disappeared.

He finds it in the bathroom, oddly enough, and manages to light all the candles in a hurry. After that he turns to the bedsheets, and—

"What’s going on?"

Blaine freezes, then slumps, defeated. “I guess I was trying to create a romantic moment.” Kurt steps into the room, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

A beat, then, “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

Looking up at Kurt, Blaine furrows his brows. “Are you sure? Because I know I shouldn’t have said that.”

"No, probably not." Kurt shrugs. "But I’m still not mad. I’m stressed, you’re stressed, this happens."

"It’s been happening a lot," Blaine mutters. Kurt makes a soft noise of agreement.

"Honestly, I feel like I should be apologizing. All the Power Ranger weddings in the world didn’t quite prepare me for planning my own wedding. I think I’ve turned into one of those reality TV people we’d criticize."

Blaine manages a half-smile. “Maybe. But I’ve been kind of a groomzilla, too. I just miss us, you know?”

Kurt smiles, a real, genuine smile — Blaine’s favorite. “I miss us, too.” He lights up then and makes a beeline for their old boombox, which lays off to the side of their room. “Did I ever tell you that Rachel once recorded you playing piano at the Spotlight Diner?”

"No…" Blaine says. "How did she do that?"

"Don’t ask me." Kurt digs through their CDs, pulling out a blank one. He puts it in and hits play. "But she did, and gave the result to me."

"Really?"

Kurt turns and notices Blaine’s skeptical expression. “I’m pretty sure she made more than one copy and saved one for herself. You know how much she loves when you play piano.”

"You love it, too."

"I do. Come here, handsome." Kurt stands, gesturing for Blaine to come to him. "Dance with me."

Blaine laughs when the music starts playing — he’s playing Bills, Bills, Bills, of all things — but goes willingly. He loves Kurt too much not to want to be close to him whenever and however possible. Kurt immediately drapes his arms over Blaine’s shoulders as always.

"I think there’s a rap song in there, too."

"Of course there is."

"I’m sure you made it sound very romantic."

"Because I’m clearly so good at romance."

Kurt laughs. “This  _is_  romantic, sweetheart. You, me, some candles, and music?”

"And an unmade bed, and no planning—"

"Unplanned romance is one of the best kinds," Kurt says. 

"True, I guess. Maybe that’s what we’re missing. Unscheduled romance."

Kurt tucks his chin into Blaine’s shoulder and chuckles. “From unscheduled make-outs to unscheduled romance. My, we’ve taken a turn.”

"Oh, shut up."

The music changes but they keep turning at the same pace, occasionally murmuring a word or two. Finally Blaine stops them and pulls back — not so far that he lets go, but far enough that he can look Kurt in the eyes.

"This wedding is still a good thing for us, right?"

Kurt opens his mouth, but it takes a moment for him to say anything. “Yes, I think so. I think this is proof of it.”

Blaine thinks on that for a second or two. This here, this moment with just the two of them and nothing else. A little moment. It’s perfect, he thinks. And he thinks he gets what Kurt’s trying to say — it’s these little moments, the pockets of perfection, that make everything right. The big gestures are amazing, of course, but the little things hold them together and keep them strong.

He nods, pulls Kurt back in. “Me too.”

Kurt hums, delighted, into his neck. “Marry me, Blaine. Let me love you forever.”

"I’ll let you if you let me," Blaine answers, soft.

"Deal."


End file.
